


Errant Mind, Wandering Gaze

by windsweptfic



Series: the duality of human nature [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: (once again), Adoption, Asexual Minor Character, Low Chaos (Dishonored), M/M, Open Marriage, Romance, Second Chances, Slow Burn, that explicit tag is gonna take a WHILE to get to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-03-22 12:16:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13763976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsweptfic/pseuds/windsweptfic
Summary: Geoff adopts the son of a man he once loved, and meets a man he thinks he could come to love.Sometimes people can earn their second chances.





	1. Fugue Feast, 1824

_**His first lover was a soldier from Tyvia. He killed to keep the secret.** _

** Fugue Feast, 1824 **

** **

** **

They stumbled into the foyer of Geoff's apartment, drunk on wine and wanton indulgence, laughing into each other's mouths as Jae-yun kicked the door shut behind them. He pressed Geoff back against the creaking wood with a grin, kissing his way down the younger man's neck.

"B-bed," Geoff stuttered, gasping as Jae-yun nipped at his throat. A hot flush crawled across his cheeks. "C'mon, _bed--"_

"Fugue just started," Jae-yun countered, undoing the buttons of Geoff's jacket with unfairly deft hands. "And this is the only time of year we don't have to worry about nosy neighbors. There's no rush."

"Maybe I _want_ to rush," Geoff complained, arching his back with a gasp as a nail scraped across his nipple through the thin fabric of his shirt. " _Fuck."_

"Eventually," Jae-yun agreed. When Geoff groaned he laughed and leaned back, combing his fingers through Geoff's hair fondly. "You really are--"

"So I was right."

Jae-yun froze, his eyes widening. Geoff grabbed the pistol at his hip and brought it to bear even as he shoved Jae-yun to one side, pointing the weapon at the figure standing in his bedroom doorway. His heart pounded in his throat as his eyes struggled to adjust in the dim lighting.

"...Lucas?"

Geoff glanced over at Jae-yun's surprised tone. But as he squinted into the dark, he began making out the features of the intruder as well: Lucas Dalton, another officer in Jae-yun's division who Jae-yun regularly butted heads with.

"What the fuck," Geoff said flatly, "Are you doing in my apartment."

"Seung," Lucas greeted, ignoring Geoff completely. He stepped forward into the light; he wasn't wearing the Watch uniform, just as they weren't. Being a Watchman just made you a target, on the lawless Fugue. But Lucas had his pistol and his sword, and in his hand--

Geoff's heart froze in his chest.

"Where did you get those?" he demanded hoarsely.

Except--he knew. He already knew. The fistful of letters in Lucas' hand had been in Geoff's desk: bottom drawer, back right. They hadn't been hidden; he hadn't anticipated someone breaking into his home and rifling through his meagre belongings. He hadn't expected anyone to go _looking_ for them.

They were two years worth of correspondence between him and Jae-yun. Letters from when assignments took them to opposite ends of Gristol, or across the Isles; from when Jae-yun had spent three months back in Wei-Ghon tending to his ailing father, or when Geoff had been shunted off to Whitecliff for barracks duty. They were two years of personal missives filled with affection and intimacy: honest and vulnerable and entirely, inescapably damning.

Geoff took a jerky step forward; Jae-yun grabbed his arm.

"Geoff, don't--"

"I hadn't been sure, before," Lucas commented, eyeing Geoff up and down, taking in his disheveled state and seemingly unconcerned about the weapon pointed at him. "But catching you like this…"

"It's Fugue," Geoff snapped. "And Fugue happens outside of the law. You know that as well as anyone."

"But this isn't just Fugue, is it?" Lucas grinned. He waved the stack of letters. "Sure, I caught you now, but these go back _years_. That's an awfully long time to be fucking a subordinate--especially a _man_."

Jae-yun sucked in a sharp breath, and the rattle of fear in just that small sound sent ice clawing down Geoff's spine, something dark and ugly coiling in the pit of his stomach. It was dread; it was _hate_. It was absolute terror, and not entirely for himself.

"What do you want, Lucas?" Jae-yun demanded. "Money? Leverage? Some kind of favor?"

Lucas scoffed.

"I have all the favors I need, and money-- Well, that'll come with the promotion that'll head my way once you're out of the picture."

Jae-yun let out a sharp hiss.

"That's what this is about?" he growled. "Your Void-damned _rank_? Fuckssakes Lucas, you can _have_ the promotion--"

"We both know the Commander likes you far too much to let you turn it down," Lucas spat. "And she's let you get away with so much oxshit already, it's going to take something big for her to finally get rid of you. No, I'm just going to keep these safe until the new year starts up again. Then we can all go have a nice chat with the Commander--and maybe I _won't_ bring in one of the Overseers, eh?"

"No."

Lucas blinked. Jae-yun let out a quiet sound of surprise.

Geoff flipped the safety off his pistol.

Lucas stared at him for a blank moment before throwing his head back and _laughing_.

"Don't bluff with me, whelp," he sneered. "The entire Watch knows about you and your precious _morals_ , though apparently that doesn't apply to fucking your betters. Your conscience won't let you dirty your pretty little hands like the rest of us."

Geoff let out a low, shaking breath.

"I won't let you do this. Not to him."

"Geoff," Jae-yun said softly. 

Lucas looked at them both suspiciously, wariness finally creeping onto his features. Geoff tightened his grip on his pistol.

"Put those down and walk away," he commanded. "And forget you ever saw anything here."

"And if I don't?"

Geoff swallowed, his chest tight.

"It's Fugue, Lucas."

"So?" Lucas scoffed. He shook his head. "No, these are my ticket to finally getting rid of that insufferable pest, and I'm not about to give that up--and neither of _you_ have enough balls to stop me."

"Lucas," Geoff rasped quietly, wretchedly, his eyes glittering in the dark, "It's _Fugue._ "

_And Fugue happens outside of the law._

Lucas froze. Realization twisted his features into a snarl as he took a step backwards, grabbing for his pistol--

Geoff pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so despite this chapter the tone of this story is actually going to be much lighter, which is why I wanted to get this and the next chapter done before posting. So pls read on!


	2. Month of Rain, 1839

**Month of Rain, 1839**

The Brimsley Shelter for Displaced Youth had been established about a year after the fall of the so-called Lord Regent. It coincided with the return of the noble family's original heirs and their subsequent reestablishment in aristocratic circles: one of the re-risen houses that had managed to weather the worst of Burrows' ruthless purges. 

Geoff hadn't paid much attention at the time. He'd been too busy running himself ragged alongside Corvo and the few officers he still trusted, piecing the city back together brick by brick. But when a familiar name had crossed his desk in the unending backlists of plague victims, he found himself standing outside of the establishment with his heart heavy as stone in his chest.

_142 Woodcroft Way: Plague-infested. House searched and burned. Homeowner: Jae-yun Seung. Deceased. Wife: Isibeal Seung. Deceased. Child: Jameson Seung._

_Alive._

Geoff tugged restlessly at the hem of his jacket sleeve, still unused to the lighter blue after so many years of wearing the standard uniform. Corvo hadn't even _asked_ before having him reassigned to protection detail and promoted to Commander of the Watch; he'd just shoved the coat and the paperwork into his chest on their way out to patrol.

He wouldn't have said no, of course. He knew how stretched thin Corvo was, how desperately he needed people he could trust to help shoulder the burden of bringing the city back to order. And he knew just how close Dunwall was to collapsing in on itself, even over a year after Emily had been reinstated on the throne.

Still, it would have been _nice_.

"Do you need something, officer?"

Geoff startled. He turned to meet the hazel-eyed gaze of the man that had suddenly appeared next to him, blinking in surprise--and then again in dumb shock, because the man was frankly _upsettingly_ attractive. Sandy blond hair tied into a short tail at the nape of his neck, elegant aristocratic features, an easy kind of bearing that lacked the distaste usually offered to members of the Watch. He had the lean build of a swordsman beneath his finely tailored clothes, and Geoff felt roughly on the same level as a drowned plague rat just standing next to him.

_Void._

"I, ah..." he cleared his throat uncomfortably, rubbing at the back of his neck and trying to avoid the man's gaze. "Yes. I'm looking for someone."

The man--a noble, by his dress; one of the Brimsley brothers?--lifted an eyebrow.

"Anyone in particular? If one of the kids is in trouble, I'd prefer that you at least listen to their side of the story before passing judgement."

"What?" Geoff said blankly. "Oh-- _oh_ , no, this isn't-- This isn't an official visit. I'm looking for a child to take home with me. A young boy."

The man's smile sharpened.

"Is that so?" he asked dangerously.

Geoff stared at him for a long moment of blank, uncomfortable bewilderment. Then the _implication_ behind his own words hit and he recoiled, violently, shaking his head. 

"Outsider's-- _Void_ , not like that, I would never-- I just--"

He shoved the folded list of plague victims into the man's hands, the paper crumpled from how tightly he'd been gripping it. Then he scrubbed a gloved hand over his own face--partially to hide the humiliated flush on his cheeks--as the noble opened it to read the section he'd circled.

"I'm looking for the child of Jae-yun Seung," Geoff said, voice muffled against fabric. "He was... He was a dear friend, and I was hoping to do right by his son. If the boy will have me. _Us._ My wife and I."

_Outsider's balls, I sound like a fucking idiot._

The man hummed. Geoff closed his eyes and was seriously contemplating asking the Outsider to just end his miserable existence when fingers tapped against his arm.

He pulled his hand away from his face, blinking. In just the span of a few seconds, all of the implicit threat had drained from the man's posture, leaving him at ease and friendly once more. He offered back the list, which Geoff took automatically.

"Apologies for not recognizing you sooner, Commander Curnow. My brother and I are still getting used to all of the new faces after our return to the city."

"Of course," Geoff replied faintly. "No offense taken, Lord..."

"Brimsley," the man said. "Thomas Brimsley. Come inside."

He started up the steps and Geoff fell in behind him, two steps back and to the left out of sheer force of habit. Thomas cast him a curious look--Geoff had heard the two brothers weren't that familiar with court etiquette; was he not used to having a security detail?--and tilted his head, indicating Geoff should walk next to him.

 _Definitely_ not familiar with aristocratic protocol. No noble would be caught dead standing apace with a mere guard.

But Geoff followed the wordless instruction nonetheless, quickening his stride to catch up, silently begging whatever higher power was listening to keep him from further jamming his foot down his throat. 

He almost immediately failed when Thomas actually _opened the door_ for him, making him stumble when he reached to grab the handle as well.

They shared a look. Thomas' lips twitched; Geoff felt the tips of his ears burn red.

"Sorry," he muttered. 

Thomas inclined his head graciously and Geoff darted inside, shoulders hunched as he felt the noble's amused gaze between his shoulder blades.

The Brimsley Shelter was situated on the edge of the Civil Services District, in what used to be a large warehouse that had been abandoned during the plague. Geoff could see new stonework where rooms had been built in, and the concrete floors had been replaced with tiling, but the building retained its vaulted ceiling and extensive catwalks. Colored lanterns hung from the railings, giving the place a warmer, brighter feel than Geoff would have expected of it.

Thomas led him further into the building, passing by the curious gazes of children ranging in age from five years to their teens. Geoff offered them a kind smile as he followed Thomas past a large kitchen and what seemed to be a recreation room, going down a long corridor that seemed to have rooms situated on either side. A young girl giggled at him from behind her hands and Geoff couldn't help but be reminded of his sister; of the nieces he'd watched be lost to plague, of Callista's sister Miriam smiling tiredly as she faded away.

He kept his gaze fixed on Thomas' back, after that. 

They stopped outside a half-open doorway: Thomas motioned him to stay back as he knocked on the jamb. 

"Jameson?" he called. "You decent?"

"Define 'decent'," a young voice replied. Thomas rolled his eyes and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. 

It was obvious that he knew Geoff would overhear. But why Thomas wanted him to, Geoff wasn't entirely certain. He looked up and down the hall awkwardly for a few moments before settling into a loose parade rest, clasping his hands behind him to keep from fidgeting.

"Whatever Connor said I did, it wasn't me," Jameson declared, his voice muffled through the door. 

"That isn't why I--" Thomas paused. "Wait, what _did_ you do?" 

"Nothing. Whatcha want?"

Geoff's lips twitched up in a smile.

Thomas made a skeptical noise. But his tone gentled, something soft and kind entering his voice.

"I found someone who's looking to give you a home."

"Bullshit," the boy scoffed.

Jameson didn't sound angry, or even incredulous--he just sounded _tired_ , and it made Geoff's heart clench in his chest. He closed his eyes as the conversation continued.

"Would I lie to you?" 

" _Yes_."

"Not about this."

"No, I... I guess not," Jameson said quietly. There were a few long moments of silence before he spoke again. "You sure they're not some creepy murderer?"

Thomas huffed a laugh.

"You know how selective we are," he chided. "It's the Commander of the Watch, Geoff Curnow. He's a good man; he says he was a friend of your father's. I think he'd do a good job taking care of you."

Something warm curled in the pit of Geoff's stomach at the praise he didn't know he warranted; he ducked his head, hoping whatever foolish expression was on his face didn't show too much. 

"Can I think about it?" Jameson asked, sounding small and so terribly young. "Or do you need me to go now?"

"Jameson--" Thomas' voice caught. "We're not kicking you out. This is entirely your decision. You'll always have a place here--if you want it, or if you need it."

"Okay," Jameson replied, relief evident in his voice. "Okay, I... I'll think about it. Just...give me a couple days."

"Take your time," Thomas said gently.

Silently, Geoff agreed.

He waited patiently as Thomas exited the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He beckoned Geoff to follow with a tilt of his head, and it wasn't until they were further down the corridor and out of earshot that he spoke.

"I wanted to give you an idea of what you would be dealing with," he said. "Jameson hasn't had an easy time of it since his parents died. He's tired, and jaded, and he doesn't trust easily. So if you don't think you can deal with that, I don't want you getting his hopes up. He's been through enough already."

"I understand your concern," Geoff replied, "But I never expected him to be without his own scars. I don't--"

He shook his head slowly as they entered the foyer.

"I didn't come here trying to put together some picture-perfect family. I just--wanted to help give him a second chance. He deserves one."

When Geoff looked over at Thomas there was something gentle in his eyes, something warm and inexplicably admiring, and he didn't know exactly how to deal with that so he just stared down at his boots, instead. 

They reached the door and Geoff paused, pulling out his money pouch. He took out the majority of what he had on him--not a lot, not even with the Commander's salary--and pressed it into Thomas' hands. The noble looked at him in surprise.

"Commander Curnow, you don't have to--"

"I know it isn't much right now, but I just-- Can you make sure he's taken care of? Please. He doesn't have to see me if he doesn't want to, but I...I'll sleep better at night, knowing that he's well."

"Of course," Thomas said softly. "I'll see to it myself."

Geoff nodded, clearing his throat and straightening his shoulders, letting the mantle of his station settle back into place as he looked up to meet the noble's gaze.

"Thank you, Lord Brimsley. And please, if you need anything, just have a messenger sent to my office. I know running a refuge like this isn't easy with the state the city's in, and I'd like to help as best I can."

 _I am a professional. I deal with nobles every day; I deal with_ _**attractive** nobles every day. Void, I deal with_ _**Corvo Attano**_ _every day, and he's probably one of the most handsome men in Gristol. I am entirely capable of acting like a functioning human being around some soft-hearted aristocrat with pretty eyes._

Thomas smiled then, open and honest and kind, and Geoff's brain flipped off like a generator out of whale oil.

"I'll keep that in mind, Commander. Thank you."

Geoff nodded woodenly. He managed to formulate some kind of farewell and escaped out the front door of the shelter with short, jerky movements, and only started breathing properly again once he'd gotten outside. 

He leaned against the wall of the shelter and scrubbed his hands over his face with a low, pathetic groan. The plan had been to come back in a week to check in if he didn't hear from them first, but the idea of having to face that brilliant smile again--

**__** _I am so fucked._

 

* * *

"He was cute."

"He is far too law-abiding for you to be attracted to."

"Just because I don't want to fuck him doesn't mean I can't appreciate his looks. _You_ , on the other hand..."

"I'm not going to have sex with an officer of the Watch, Connor."

"Liar. That was Curnow, right? He was one of the ones Daud told us not to touch."

"Yeah. Said he was one of the few good men left in the city."

"High praise."

"Yeah. Yeah, it was."

"...you are _totally_ going to fuck him, huh."

" _Damn it,_ Connor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my Geoff/Thomas rarepair hell! Come, let me convert you. :D
> 
> This was partially started as fluffy side shenanigans while writing Cullero Red/Karnaca Blue, which has now spiraled into...this. I'm going to try to go with a two-weeks-ish posting schedule so I have some breathing room to work on other things at the same time; this story's mostly just for fun relaxed writing, and showing how those two got together in hopefully-hilarious rom-com style.
> 
> btw the working title for this is 'Geoff Curnow is kind of a gay disaster'


	3. Month of Rain, 1839

** Month of Rain, 1839 **

Geoff lasted less than three days before was back at the shelter, a banknote in his pocket and his wife's encouraging words murmuring in the back of his mind.

 _'I know how much Lieutenant Seung meant to you,'_ she had said, her eyes gentle. _'If taking care of his son will bring you some peace, then we should do what we can to help the boy out. There are already enough children lost to the city's streets.'_

It had been raining miserably ever since he'd visited, Dunwall drowning under the sudden deluge. And the higher the floodwaters got, the tighter the anxiety in Geoff's chest coiled. He'd watched over the city long enough that he knew there was only so far you could retreat when the waters of the Wrenhaven rose--and that the safest places were always reserved for the wealthiest.

Lara had also been the one to suggest bringing the boots and heavy waterproof coat that Geoff now clutched in his hands, the clothing sized for a child of thirteen years.

 _'Besides,'_ she'd added slyly, _'I've also heard that the Brimsleys are **terribly** handsome.'_

_'Lara, **please**.'_

Grimacing at the memory of his wife's shameless meddling--for someone with no interest in the act herself, she had an awful lot of fun prying into _his_ sex life--Geoff pulled his collar up further around his neck and stepped out from the awning he'd been taking refuge under. The wind tore at his coat and the rain pounded down on his shoulders as he swiftly made his way to the shelter, climbing up the slick steps and ducking through the heavy front door.

The clamor of young voices died down as the door swung loudly shut behind him, and Geoff froze under the sudden regard of a half-dozen pairs of curious eyes. In the middle of a group of children stood a familiar figure; he waved a hand awkwardly to catch Thomas' attention.

Except--no, that wasn't Thomas. The differences were subtle, but this man had a softer curve to his cheeks, and carried himself looser than the noble Geoff had met three days ago. There was recognition but not familiarity in his sharp gaze as he walked away from the gaggle of children, and understanding hit Geoff like a pipe to the face.

The Brimsley brothers were _twins_.

_Outsider's fucking cock, just end me now._

"Commander Curnow," Connor Brimsley greeted. "Thomas said that you'd been by earlier this week to ask after Jameson, but I admit, I hadn't expected you to return."

"I was going to wait until I heard from you," Geoff replied. "I don't want to force my presence here, but with the weather as it's been, I was just..."

"Worried?" Connor suggested. 

Geoff nodded. He held out the jacket and boots and only belatedly realized that he was offering a bundle of dripping clothing to a _noble_ , but Connor took them without batting an eye. He shook out the sodden coat before draping it over one arm, and Geoff could only stare mutely as the rainwater dampened his shirtsleeve, turning the white cloth translucent over the defined curves of his bicep.

_Focus, **focus**._

"I, ah, also brought--" Geoff tugged open his oilskin overcoat, reaching into his jacket to pull the banknote out of his breast pocket. "A donation. It can go toward whatever you need, it doesn't have to be just for... I just thought it might help."

"That's very generous of you," Connor said, taking the cheque, his eyebrows lifting slightly.

Despite himself, Geoff flushed.

"I know it isn't much--"

"You misunderstand," Connor interrupted gently. "We just...always find it remarkable that those who have the least to give always want to offer the most."

Geoff ducked his head, combing his fingers through his rain-soaked hair and glancing away from Connor's too-intent gaze.

"It's not like we're the worst off," he muttered. "We don't have it nearly as bad as some."

"No," Connor agreed, "But that doesn't make it any less noteworthy."

Geoff squirmed beneath the praise, cheeks red and eyes basically anywhere other than meeting the noble's own. 

He was saved by the sound of the door slamming open.

"Connor!" a voice called. "Do you have the hot water on yet? It's like the fucking Outsider himself is pissing out there."

Geoff turned around, blinking, to find a drenched Thomas Brimsley standing in the threshold of the foyer. 

Thomas kicked the door closed with one mud-spattered boot, already beginning the process of stripping out of the layers of clothing that had clearly done nothing to protect him from the rain. A puddle of water formed on the tiled floor beneath him as he shrugged out of a heavy overcoat, leaving it to drip on a hanger as he began the process of unbuttoning the front of his jacket.

He got halfway down, revealing a soaked-through shirt that was sticking to the frankly _criminal_ definition of his chest and abs, before he realized that Geoff was standing there alongside his brother. 

Then Thomas froze in place--and Geoff found himself _absolutely delighted_ by the pink flush that crept across the noble's cheeks.

"Ah... Commander Curnow, this is a...surprise."

"Lord Brimsley," Geoff greeted. He was quite proud of the fact that he managed not to give in to the desire to gawk shamelessly, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on Thomas' face.

As such, he was able to catch the look of distaste that flashed across Thomas' features at the title.

"Yes, there's hot water," Connor replied. "And I'll even set the coffee brewing if you promise to stop dripping everywhere. Commander, if you don't mind?"

Geoff looked back just in time to get an armful of towels shoved at him. He took them automatically, surprised that he hadn't even noticed Connor leave to get them.

"Please take these to my brother while I get the two of you something to drink," Connor said, before disappearing down the hall. The words were phrased as a request but they had the tone of an order, so Geoff just nodded, curling his fingers in the plush fabric.

He only belatedly realized that Connor had said the _two of them._

"He's otherwise useless, but he does make good coffee," Thomas offered from behind him, and Geoff turned back around to carry the towels over. The noble had managed to get the rest of the way out of his jacket and boots, standing barefoot and dripping in just his shirt and pants. 

Neither did a very good job of hiding the lithe, muscled body that lay beneath them.

As Geoff drew closer he saw that Thomas was shivering, and mentally cursed himself for just standing around ogling the man. He moved forward quickly, shaking out one of the towels and draping it across the noble's shoulders. 

"You're soaked through," he murmured, laying a hand on Thomas' back, feeling the chill of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. 

"It's _raining_ ," Thomas pointed out. 

Geoff flushed and withdrew his hand, offering out another towel instead. He glanced away as Thomas took it, draping it over his head and scrubbing it through his hair, soaking up the water drenching sandy-blond strands. 

"Of course, my lord," he agreed quietly.

Thomas paused, lifting his head to look at Geoff with those far-too attractive hazel eyes.

"I didn't...mean it like that," he said uncomfortably. "I wasn't trying to make fun. I'm sorry if I offended you."

Geoff blinked.

"That's alright, Lord--" he stumbled, remembering that earlier expression of distaste, "--Thomas."

Thomas tilted his head, surprised. The ensuing pleased smile that crept across his face was so bright that it could have struck anyone dumb--and did, if the delirious mess the expression made of Geoff's useless brain was anything to go by.

_Void, he's beautiful._

"Thomas is fine, please."

Geoff nodded blankly, knowing that he was staring and unable to find it in himself to care.

"Then feel free to call me, ah--" his brain finally kicked into gear again, reminding him that he was speaking to a member of the _nobility_ , "--um. Whatever you find appropriate, my lord. Sir. _Thomas_."

Thomas' eyes sparkled.

"I will, Geoff."

_Fuck._

"However, if you're looking for Jameson," Thomas continued, draping the towel over his shoulder, "He's not here at the moment."

Geoff drew back, alarmed. His eyes darted toward the door. But before he could go do anything particularly asinine--like wander aimlessly around in a storm looking for a boy who didn't even want to see him--Thomas grabbed onto his arm.

"He's fine," he soothed. "He's not out in the cold. I just set him and some of the older kids up in one of the nearby inns since we're short on beds tonight."

"Oh." Geoff blinked, surprised. "That's--that's very kind of you."

Thomas shrugged.

"We promised them a place to stay. It isn't their fault when we can't deliver."

Maybe not, but that didn't mean they had an obligation to see their charges looked afterwhen they weren't at the shelter. That Thomas saw it as such a tacit extension of their care added yet another layer of respect Geoff had for the two nobles.

"I, ah, left a coat and some boots for him with Lord Connor," he said, suddenly remembering Connor's suggestion-- _threat-_ -that they sit down for drinks. He was doing a fine job of making himself look a fool as it was; being one-on-one in private with Thomas sounded like a recipe for disaster. "With the weather as it is... Well. I hope they fit."

"I'm sure they can be easily adjusted if not," Thomas reassured him with a smile. He glanced back at his dripping overcoat. "I could take them over to him now, if you want."

"Void no," Geoff protested, aghast, even if the offer did make something warm bloom in his chest. "It's miserable out there. I'm happy just knowing the two of you are out of the rain."

Thomas's eyebrows lifted in surprise and Geoff realized too late what he'd said, that he'd admitted to including the noble in his thoughts and concerns--

He cleared his throat.

"I should go," he said lamely.

Thomas frowned, just a tiny little crease between his brows, and it really was unfair how even that just made him look adorable instead of dour.

"You just said the weather's awful," he pointed out. "Why don't you stay here until it lightens up?"

" _No_ ," Geoff blurted, panicked. "I mean, I have--Watch business. To attend to."

It wasn't _necessarily_ a lie. The patrol roster needed to be rotated, and he had a number of petty disputes to settle. Some of the wealthier residents in the Legal District were badgering him again about reinstating a curfew--which would happen precisely never--and the Blair family still didn't seem to believe that, no, Geoff would _not_ loan his people out to act as security guards for private parties.

None of that needed to be dealt with immediately, though.

"Of course, Commander," Thomas murmured. There was a slight curl to his mouth as his lips formed the title and Geoff was pretty sure he'd been seen right through. "I'll tell Jameson you stopped by."

The reminder of why he had come in the first place--and just the fact he'd _needed_ a reminder made guilt settle heavy across his shoulders--straightened out the meandering train of Geoff's thoughts.

"Thank you," he said, inclining his head gratefully. "And really, if he... If he doesn't want anything to do with me, I understand. But please, if he ever needs something, for whatever reason, just let me know. I'll do what I can to help."

Thomas smiled softly.

"You really are a good man, Geoff."

Heat crawled up the back of Geoff's neck, the flush brightening his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He hadn't heard that kind of affectionate praise directed at him since--

"I'm really not," Geoff replied quietly. He avoided Thomas' confused gaze as he quickly re-buttoned the front of his overcoat, the damp chill finally settling back into his bones. 

He withdrew to a safe distance and executed a shallow bow.

"Have a good evening, my lord."

"Geoff--"

Geoff turned around and stepped back out into the cold.

 

* * *

 

"Two minutes! If you'd kept him here for _two minutes_ I could have gotten you into a room alone--"

"Will you _stop_?"

"...well, shit. You're not even going to just fuck him, are you? You're going to _court_ him."

"He really is all that Daud said he was."

"Upstanding? Virtuous? Entirely uncompromising when it comes to enforcing the law that we _regularly used to break_?"

"Honorable. Kind. The type of man Dunwall needed in order to recover."

"Fucking Void, you can have the coffee. I'm going to find some alcohol."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i hadn't planned on pushing writing this but i am utterly weak when it comes to these two sooo


	4. Month of Rain, 1839

** Month of Rain, 1839 **

"You're distracted."

Geoff blinked down at the practice sword digging into his stomach. He lowered his own weapon and cast his sparring partner a guilty look.

"Sorry, Corvo."

The Royal Protector shrugged easily, bringing his sword vertically in front of his body in a salute. 

"Everyone has their off days," he said as Geoff returned the gesture, ending their session. "You're not still stressing over the Boyle party, are you? It isn't for another few months, and I already said you didn't have to go."

"As _security_ ," Geoff pointed out, wrinkling his nose. He took Corvo's sword and put them both on the weapon rack in the corner, the defunct carriage house turned into a small training area when the weather was poor. "You know that Waverly already sent Lara an invitation."

"She bypassed you rather neatly," Corvo agreed. He didn't even bother trying to hide his amusement, damn him. "And it would be such a _terrible_ insult to turn down a Boyle invitation."

"I'm not a noble, I'm allowed to be insulting."

"You're Commander of the Watch," Corvo said mildly. 

Geoff made a face as he went to the sink, pulling off his shirt and leaning over to sluice the sweat from his neck and shoulders. The heavy rain outside would get him drenched anyway, but he would prefer to _not_ smell like a barracks before he put his uniform jacket back on.

"I'm just a guard."

Corvo clucked his tongue, leaning against the wall next to the sink. He was barely winded, which Geoff might have found offensive if he wasn't entirely aware of just how competent the other man was; there was no shame in losing a bout to Corvo Attano.

And Geoff did lose. _Often_. 

"Over a year in charge of the city's entire security force and you still only see yourself as 'a guard'," Corvo mused. He shook his head. "Give yourself some credit for your own accomplishments, Geoff. Void knows _they_ won't."

Geoff watched the water swirl around the drain, his mouth twisting into a grimace. Even now--perhaps _especially_ now--certain members of the Watch and aristocracy took great delight in gossiping about Geoff's background. And that came from just having a grandfather from Serkonos; Corvo, born and bred in Karnaca, never even had the grace of people keeping their opinions to whispers. The fact that they were both lowborn just underscored how much they didn't _merit_ their positions.

No matter what either of them did, they would never be enough for the Gristolians they served.

Geoff sighed and ran his shirt under the faucet.

"Speaking of nobles," he said, "What have you heard about the Brimsleys?"

"Nothing too exciting." Corvo shrugged. "I know the sons of the elder family resurfaced recently to take over the estate, and that their tendency toward altruism isn't exactly in line with Mace Brimsley's ideas on how wealth should be spent. Can't say I feel much sympathy for him; I met him during the rat plague, he's a horrible human being. Why, do you have concerns?"

Geoff shook his head, turning off the tap.

"No, no. I'm just going to be working with them rather closely, soon. With the shelter they run down in the Civil Services District. Or at least I hope I will be."

Corvo's eyebrows lifted, understanding softening his features. 

"Ah. You found Lieutenant Seung's son, haven't you?" he asked gently.

Geoff gaped at him.

"How did--" he cut himself off with an exasperated huff. "You know what, don't tell me. I don't want to know."

"Most of my information is obtained through entirely legal means, you know," Corvo protested.

Geoff pinched the bridge of his nose.

" _Please_ stop lying to an officer of the law."

The grin Corvo flashed him was completely unashamed. He clapped Geoff on one shoulder before picking up his Royal Protector's overcoat, pulling it on like the armor it acted as.

"Emily should be done with her lessons by now; I should go make sure she ends up in that parliamentary meeting like she's supposed to."

"Good luck," Geoff offered. The young Empress had made great strides in settling into her new duties since her coronation a year and a half ago--but she was still just a child, and still in possession of a child's attention span. 

Callista despaired over Emily's inability to focus sometimes, but it was always with fondness beneath the exasperation.

"I'll need it," Corvo agreed mournfully. He grabbed an umbrella and waved in Geoff's vague direction before ducking out into the rain.

Geoff chuckled as he wrung his shirt out over the sink. Years ago, when he'd been assigned to Corvo for those months of travel in search of a plague cure, he hadn't expected to become friends with the man. He honestly hadn't even expected to talk to him: he'd been appointed as a bodyguard _to_ _a bodyguard_ , literally the most competent bodyguard in the Isles, and he wouldn't have blamed Corvo for being insulted by his mere presence. 

But Corvo hadn't been. He'd been soft-spoken and quietly wry, agreeing with Geoff about the ridiculousness of the situation over cards and whiskey during the long days at sea. He'd grown more strained as time went on and the rejections continued, but he'd never treated Geoff as anything less than an equal--even if they both knew that he wasn't.

They'd been comrades at the very least when they finally returned to Dunwall; after Corvo saved him from Campbell--and Geoff knew it was him, even if they'd never spoken of it--and Callista had been officially hired on as Emily's governess, they'd settled into a comfortable, easy friendship.

As he just finished extracting as much water as was possible from his shirt, Geoff heard the door open behind him.

"Uncle?"

Geoff smiled, scrubbing his fingers through his damp hair as he turned to face his niece. 

"Sorry I haven't been around recently, Ca--"

Startled hazel eyes stared at him from over Callista's shoulder.

"Lord Thomas?" Geoff blurted. 

"Geoff," Thomas said blankly. When Callista cast him a keen look he corrected, "Ah-- Commander Curnow."

"I ran into Lord Brimsley and Captain Thorpe coming up from the guard house," Callista said, glancing between the two of them. "Since I was coming over anyway, I told Clive I'd escort Lord Brimsley the rest of the way here. Is this a bad time?"

"No, not at all," Geoff replied hastily. He shot a weak smile at Thomas, who was...actually not meeting his gaze, his attention seemingly transfixed by the Serkonan sea eagle that spanned Geoff's left pectoral.

Geoff shifted self-consciously, hastily pulling his shirt on to hide the tattoo from view. It was faded now, the stylized black ink a memento from when he was younger and more rebellious: spitefully defiant of the Gristolian members of the Watch who looked down on him.

Thomas made a small sound in his throat. His eyes finally snapped up to meet Geoff's, a faint blush dusting his cheeks, and _Void_ , it should be illegal for one person to be so attractive. It had to violate a couple Strictures, at least.

"Lord Brimsley said he wanted to talk regarding Jameson," Callista prompted. Her eyes had narrowed, mouth pressed into a thin line as she eyed Thomas with muted suspicion, and Geoff felt a surge of fondness for her at the overprotectiveness before her words actually registered.

He frowned in concern.

"Is everything alright?"

"Jameson's fine," Thomas reassured him. The blush faded, replaced with a smile. "He said he'd like to meet you."

Geoff's breath caught in his throat.

"He did?" he asked, taking an eager step forward as Callista pressed her hands together in delight; hope chased away the discomfort of the situation. "When?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you about," Thomas admitted. "I didn't know when would be most convenient for your schedule."

"Whenever would be best for him," Geoff said firmly. "I'll find a way to make it work."

Surprise flickered across Thomas' features, chased quickly by something that might have been admiration.

"Then how about in two days, around lunch?" he suggested.

"We'll be there," Geoff promised. He felt the tension knotting his shoulders since he went to the shelter finally ease, a smile curving his lips. "Thank you for coming to tell me."

"It was--nothing," Thomas replied, though his attention seemed to have dropped to the vicinity of Geoff's mouth. He cleared his throat before his eyes flicked back up. "Connor and I were already here on business, as it happened. I should probably get back to him."

He offered Geoff a nod, sketching a bow to Callista that was far deeper than her station as a governess warranted, and slipped out the door. 

Callista watched him go with a slight frown.

"He was odd."

"What do you mean?" Geoff asked. 

"He's not like a normal noble."

"The Brimsley twins have been out of aristocratic circles for quite some time," Geoff offered. He pulled on his jacket with only a slight grimace, doing up the buttons over the damp cloth of his shirt. "I heard they were raised as commoners after their parents died."

"Waverly finds it all very dramatic," Callista agreed. "No, it's something else. He reminds me of--of Martin, a little. Of Lord Corvo during the plague. The way he moves, like everything else is prey. The look in his eyes."

Geoff frowned as he adjusted his jacket's sleeve cuffs. He certainly wouldn't deny that Thomas had an edge to him; he could see how Callista might liken him to a Warfare Overseer. Geoff had never thought to be frightened of the man, though.

"Promise me you'll be careful with him," Callista insisted, walking over as he strapped back on his sword belt and pistol.

Geoff could remember when she was a little girl, bright-eyed and innocent: a sharp contrast to the hardened wariness that marked her now. But she had learned how to survive in Dunwall through pain and hardship, fighting her way through lean times and loss, and she had more than earned his regard to give her words weight.

"I promise," he agreed, reaching out to take her hands. Callista looked at him searchingly before the tension in her mouth finally softened.

"It's good to see you, uncle," she said warmly, tugging him into an embrace. She had never been a particularly tactile child before, but after all they had been through these past years...

Geoff returned the hug soundly.

"But you should have told me that you finally found the boy," she scolded.

Geoff laughed, pulling away to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly.

"I only located him earlier this week," he admitted. "Things have just...happened very quickly since then. I didn't know if he would even want anything to do with us."

"He will," Callista said decisively, and Geoff had to smile at the absolute, unwavering conviction in her voice.

"I hope so."

 

* * *

 

"Where did you disappear off to? And why are you soaked? Our meeting with the Trade Minister is in five minutes."

"I just went to let Geoff know about Jameson."

"Oh. Well, that explains the stupid grin on your face."

"I am _not--_ "

"And 'Geoff', is it?"

"Don't we have somewhere to be? An important meeting with the Trade Minister, yes?"

"Void, you're a tragedy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah yes the disaster boys continue to be disasters 
> 
>  
> 
> ~~i love their dumb faces so much~~


	5. Month of Rain, 1839

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /shiftily looks at the 'last updated' time
> 
> /lays this here
> 
> /slinks away guiltily
> 
> (note: ART LINK IN END NOTES, IT'S FAB AS SHIT)

"Please," Geoff begged. "Please, for the love of whatever you hold dear, for the sake of my continued sanity-- _Do not_ burn down the Watch offices while I'm gone."

Captain Malai Phan, Geoff's effective second-in-command and an entirely capable officer of the Watch, blinked down at him guilelessly.

"No guarantees, boss."

Geoff dropped his head into his hands.

"Stop upsetting him," Finley scolded. "He's got enough to worry about, between the nobles and the Regenters and the gangs and--"

"We'll do our best, sir," Alina interrupted stoutly.

The four First Captains of the Watch stood before Geoff's desk in varying degrees of formality, the rigidity of rank loosened in the privacy of his office. Finley had their arms crossed over their chest; Alina remained straight-backed and proper. Duncan was fidgeting a little off to the right--and then there was Malai, leaning her hip against the desk with an insouciance born from being the one to teach Geoff how to swing a sword in the first place.

"You're getting worked up over nothing," Malai scoffed. "You'll meet the kid, he'll love you and Lara, and then you'll come back here so I won't have to do any of your paperwork. Easy."

Geoff lifted his head to squint at her.

"When did _you_ become an optimist?"

"It's not optimism, it's realism," Malai replied matter-of-factly. "I've seen what you're like with kids. You'd make a damn fine father."

Geoff smiled thinly.

"I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I doubt it will be that simple."

There was a quiet knock on the door; all four Captains immediately fell back into proper attention. But Geoff knew that short series of taps, and he leaned back in his chair, some of the tension easing from his shoulders.

"Come in."

The door creaked open and a familiar figure slipped inside the office.

"Lara," Geoff said warmly.

His wife greeted him with an easy smile and a waggle of her fingers. She still had her apothecary bag slung over one shoulder, even though she had clearly already changed: the customary white coat was missing, and she'd let her long brown hair out of the usual practical bun.

"Lady Curnow," Duncan murmured politely as Lara passed, bobbing his head. He was the most recent addition to the First Captains: one of the promotions handed out after Geoff had finished purging the Watch of Burrows' rot. He was a little raw around the edges, still adjusting to having command, but he'd proven more than capable of handling himself and the River Patrol.

"I haven't been a _lady_ in over a decade," Lara observed, amused. She did look the part of a noble, wearing tasteful jewelry and a fine juniper-green pantsuit--high quality, if slightly out of fashion--but Geoff knew that the outfit was well-worn. It had been modified multiple times over the years, and her earrings and necklace were grudging wedding gifts from her parents.

He and Lara had both been more than aware that she was marrying far below her station when she decided to wed him, back when they were trapped in lives that weren't their own. Being cut off from her inheritance meant that she could no longer experience the lavish lifestyle she'd grown up with--but she never once expressed regret for choosing to marry him. The escape from her family that he offered was boon enough; that he'd had no desire to sleep with her was an added benefit. 

They'd spent their wedding night drinking champagne and playing Nancy in their marital suite, and Lara had won three rounds out of five. 

Lara circled around Geoff's desk to rest a hand on the back of his chair, leaning down to give him a quick, fond peck on the temple.

Finley cooed.

Geoff scowled and jabbed a finger at his impudent Captains.

"Get out, all of you. Phan, Simmons, finish going over the River Patrol's reports on the old Financial District before you return to your posts. Briarmont and Galloway, you're dismissed."

The four saluted with only a modicum of amusement and obediently filed out. As soon as the door closed Geoff sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Long day?" Lara asked, squeezing his shoulder. He grunted.

"Long week." He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to look up at her. "What are you doing here, anyway? We don't have to be at the shelter for another few hours."

"The clinic's most exciting case today was Lord Thornley's broken nose from getting handsy with one of the maids," she replied blandly. "I won't be missed. Besides, knowing you, you've been sitting here fretting every chance you get."

"...no I haven't," Geoff said unconvincingly. 

Lara snorted.

"Besides, you still need to change," she continued, tugging pointedly on the collar of his jacket.

Geoff glanced down at himself with a grimace. He _had_ originally planned on just wearing his Watch uniform to go meet Jameson. But Lara had been aghast when he told her, and she'd managed to dig a nicer ensemble from somewhere in the depths of his closet. It was itchy and too loose across his shoulders and he kind of hated it, but she had insisted that first impressions were an important test. 

Taking in the ink staining his fingertips and the drops of gun oil blotting the front of his coat--and knowing full well the presence of dark bags beneath his eyes and the unshaven stubble on his jaw--Geoff was pretty sure it was a test he would have failed.

"I probably have time to do something with this, too," she added in a low mutter, combing her fingers through his hair. Geoff reached up to bat her hands away, scowling at the unrepentant grin she offered him in return.

"My hair is _fine_ , thank you," he said defensively, willfully ignoring the tragic reality of his receding hairline. He shook his head and stacked a few reports into a neat pile on the side of his desk. "Just give me a few minutes to close up."

"Do you think we should pick something up before we go?" Lara asked, switching gears easily as Geoff put away a log book that contained notes collected on the various Dunwall gangs. Concern creased her forehead. "Some kind of gift--perhaps a toy?"

Geoff smiled fondly as he locked his desk drawer. For all her years removed from high society, Lara still adhered to their unspoken codes of etiquette and propriety.

"From what little I know of him, I think he might be insulted if we brought him a toy. Maybe some pastries? There's that bakery on Lansdowne that just opened up--"

The sound of footsteps pounding down the hall interrupted his train of thought; Geoff looked up just as the door slammed open. He shot instantly to his feet as he took in the sight of one of his lieutenants: bedraggled and panting for air, dried blood caked at his temple.

"Commander," Darion gasped, "There's been an incident--"

"Report," Geoff instructed brusquely, reaching for his sword belt and buckling it swiftly around his waist.

"Those Regenters that we've been keeping track of-- They started a riot outside Parliament, the Watch on patrol over there tried to get things under control but there's been a panic among the civilians and shots have been fired--" 

"Has the Tower been notified?" Geoff interrupted, grabbing his coat and throwing it over his shoulders as he strode out of his office, Lara and Darion at his heels.

"First Captain Briarmont headed out as soon as she heard."

"Good. Find Captain Phan, tell her I want her to pull who she can spare off Estate duty and send half to the Tower, half to Parliament."

"Sir!" 

Darion went dashing off as they reached the stairs; Geoff took them down two at a time, Lara glancing at him askance as she kept pace.

"Do you think this is a ploy to get to the Empress?" she asked worriedly.

Geoff shook his head.

"Honestly, no. For all their blustering, most of the Regenters want to remove Emily lawfully: they wouldn't take such direct measures. But I'm not taking any chances."

He'd failed the last Empress by letting Burrows pull him away from the gazebo that day. He wouldn't fail her daughter, too.

"I'll come with you," Lara decided. "I can help with the wounded while you take care of the rest, and after things have been settled..."

Geoff cast her a fond look.

"We'll make it to the shelter on time," he reassured her. "We don't want to leave a bad first impression by being late, after all."

Lara smiled.

"No," she agreed. "No, we don't."

* * *

Curnow was late.

"He's not coming, is he?" Jameson said flatly, scowling down at the now-cool scones some of the older girls had baked. They'd been warm and fresh for the scheduled meeting at noon--almost two hours ago. 

"It looks that way," Connor conceded, studying Jameson from across the table. He'd brought out a stack of manifests after the first half-hour had passed, settling down to go through the Brimsley Shipping Company's most recent consignments. "Upset?"

Jameson scoffed. As if _he_ gave a damn about some asshole Watch officer who'd gotten cold feet about adopting a kid. It had never happened to him before--no one had ever shown an interest in _him_ ; the older you were, the less likely you were to be adopted--but he had seen some of the younger kids go through something similar. They'd get their hopes up only to have them dashed to pieces, promises of home and family turned to dust that dissolved in their hands.

He jerked his chin in Thomas' direction, instead.

"Not as much as _he_ is."

Connor followed his gaze, something wistful softening his mouth when he caught sight of his brother. Thomas was still waiting in the foyer sitting area, seemingly entirely engrossed in reading a novel, but every few minutes his eyes would flick towards the heavy front door. As the clock ticked on he'd sunk lower and lower in his chair, shoulders slumped in disappointment.

"He doesn't usually have this much faith," Jameson observed. "If it was like any of the others, I'd be eyeballs-deep in sweets by now."

"Commander Curnow does appear to be an unusual case," Connor agreed. "Thomas has a lot of respect for him."

Jameson caught Thomas glancing at the door again and anger simmered low in his gut.

"He shouldn't," he muttered.

Connor smiled fondly.

"Maybe not. But he always did have a soft heart."

Jameson flushed, glancing away. He knew the words weren't meant to be pointed, weren't meant to be directed at him--but that didn't stop the coil of humility that wound around his chest.

After all, Thomas' soft heart was what had led them to rescue a half-drowned Dead Eel shiprat in the first place.

Jameson grabbed one the scones, biting into it irritably. Even now he avoided Draper's Ward like it was still ridden with plague, preferring to skirt around it through the decrepit Old Waterfront District instead of actually setting foot into the still-contested territory. The Eels didn't know what to make of him now and the Hatters would gut him the second he showed his face, the scarred-over tattoo beneath his shirt more than enough prevocation for them.

He might have been resentful at first, might have said some words then that he deeply regretted now, but Jameson had always been well aware that the twins had saved his life that day.

The shelter door swung open.

Jameson stuffed the rest of the scone defiantly into his mouth, scowling as Thomas shot to his feet. A petite, well-dressed woman stepped into the shelter, wrapped snugly in a thick winter coat. She was followed by a tall man wearing a Watch uniform, who--

Who shuffled slowly through the door after her, hobbling awkwardly with a crutch tucked under one arm and bandages wrapped around his head.

The sweet taste of apple soured abruptly on Jameson's tongue.

"Well, shit," Connor murmured. 

"Geoff!" Thomas blurted, taking a few halting steps toward the two newcomers, one hand outstretched. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Curnow said reassuringly as he walked further into the building, the lie evident in how he winced with each movement. "A situation at Parliament got a little out of hand, that's all. I'm so sorry that we're late--I wanted to send Lara ahead, but--"

"We were worried he might have a concussion," the woman said briskly, helping Curnow ease onto one of the couches. "And I didn't trust him not to end up in a ditch somewhere."

She turned back to Thomas, offering her hand with a smile, her eyes sharp and assessing.

"Lara Curnow. You must be Thomas Brimsley."

"There's probably a lesson here about not judging people before you meet them," Connor mused behind Jameson. He turned back around, determinedly attempting to ignore the quiet conversation out in the foyer as his stomach abruptly decided to twist itself into knots.

"Save the lecture," he muttered, scowling down at his boots. He was wearing the nicest clothes he had but the boots still stood out: shiny and new and out of place, just like the coat draped over the chair in his room.

"It wasn't supposed to be one," Connor corrected kindly. "Just an observation."

He wasn't usually so gentle with Jameson--he didn't need to be, not like with the other kids--and Jameson found himself both annoyed and immensely, pathetically grateful for the consideration. 

"What if they don't like me?" he blurted, regretting the words the instant they left his lips. He swallowed back the sour tang of nausea, hunching his shoulders. He shouldn't care, he _didn't_ care--

Connor laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and Jameson twitched, looking up involuntarily. 

And something in him settled, just a little bit, at the conviction he saw on Connor's face.

"Then you'll stay here with us, because they won't deserve you."

Jameson rolled his eyes, a small smile curving his mouth despite himself.

"Trite," he said critically. 

Connor shrugged easily, unconcealed fondness in his gaze.

"But true. Come on."

Jameson nodded, taking a deep, steadying breath.

Then he turned around to face what he fragilely, hesitantly hoped could be his future.

 

* * *

"I think that went well."

"I'll bet you do."

"...what?"

"Thomas. You offered to do _house calls_."

"He's injured, and their house is on the opposite side of the city--"

"Of _course_ you know that--"

"--and besides, it would be better for Jameson to have a chance to feel them out before he decides anything. We'll make sure they're right for him, first."

"So your brain actually _does_ do some of your thinking."

"Oh, fuck off."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI THIS IS SUPER FUCKING LATE AND A BIT OF A MESS I'M SORRY BUT LOOK LOOK **LOOK** AT THIS FUCKING ART OF THE CURNOW-BRIMSLEY FAM I'VE BEEN WAITING TO SHARE IT FOR AGESSSS BECAUSE I LOVE IT SFM
> 
> Curnow Family Portrait via the awesomesauce [EdgeLaur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdgeLaur/pseuds/EdgeLaur): [twitter](https://twitter.com/Laur_rants/status/1022728121538277376?s=19) | (tumblr link to be added)
> 
> This is obvs later on, closer to DH2 when Jameson is older and the two disaster dads have finally gotten together. (Spoiler?)
> 
> Oh! FTR, Lara is an aromantic ace.


End file.
